Yesterday I went to Forest Park on a mission to rent a storage unit. As if storage units aren't bleak and funny enough, I was amused to find the PODs headquarters among a strip of warehouses on a street where I lived briefly as a child. There are no houses left on Barnett Road, just a small trailer park off Old Dixie Highway to orient me. I drove up and down the street trying to imagine where our house used to be, with its pecan tree and wild jonquils and the little guest house out back. "Air Logistics Center II" gives away nothing. How I can manage to get sentimental over just the angle of winter light and the resonance of incoming jets is a testament to my unique neurosis.